


Mississippi Sea

by ObserveroftheUniverse (observeroftheuniverse)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, X-Files A Map of Us: 50 States of Sex Challenge, tender Mulder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/observeroftheuniverse/pseuds/ObserveroftheUniverse
Summary: Finally, my entry for the 50 States of Sex challenge. Thank you to everyone who helped me along, especially @peacenik0.Scully gets sick in Mississippi. Mulder takes care of her - in more ways than one.





	Mississippi Sea

Scully has been to nearly every state with Mulder over the years, yet the vastly varying topography of the country never fails to fascinate her. The rolling hills along the Tennessee highways. Clouds of dust and sand and turning tumbleweeds in Arizona. Heavy, humid Floridian swamps. She had seen them all. Mississippi is very flat. At least the area around Tchulla.

This is what Scully is contemplating as she steps slowly, gingerly out of the rental car. There is a thick fog creeping into her head, leaving her feeling heavy, her thoughts muddled. Her eye catches on the field to the left of their motel. It seems to go on forever - perfect clearness for miles and miles. She can see the horizon line with a clarity she has only ever found over water. Out in the field, the grass sways with the caress of a gentle breeze, bobbing and rippling like the surface of an ocean. Watching it makes her dizzy.

“Scully, you coming?”

No, it isn’t the grass making her dizzy. Her head has been hurting all day, starting behind her eyes and creeping slowly over her temples, her scalp. The hint of a deep ache is starting to settle in her muscles and bones. She knows she’s coming down with something and her immune system is readying itself for the fight. In a few more hours, she is certain she will have a fever. 

“Scully? You okay?” Mulder’s voice finally breaks through the haze in her head and pulls her back to herself. She closes the car door, dragging her eyes away from the swaying sea of grass.

“Yeah, I’m f--” The lie is already formed on her lips as she turns to her partner, but dies when she sees his expression.

His face is so uninhibited, his concern so open. It makes her wonder: what is she doing? This man, her friend, her partner - now in every sense of the word - has gone to the ends of the world for her. He has given himself to her so freely and here she is, about to thoughtlessly lie to him about something so trivial. Why? There is no need. She loves him, she trusts him. So why is it still so damned hard to let herself be vulnerable with him? 

There are moments, of course, that she can recognize as progress. She has gone to bed with him and told him she loves him. For the most part, the big things are out of the way. Yet still with these little everyday occurrences, she struggles. Sometimes she hates herself for it. Scully takes a breath. She owes it to Mulder and to their relationship to try to be more consistently honest with him. Even just this one small step… so she pushes the words out, forces herself to admit: 

“Actually, Mulder, I’m not feeling very well.”

Her attempt at openness is a double-edged sword. Concern and a touch of alarm immediately mark his features. No doubt her willing admission has him thinking it must be something grave. She knows what he fears. It has been years, but the cancer is as much a mark on them as the scar on her neck.

Abandoning his own room, Mulder doubles back to meet her halfway, one hand resting on her shoulder as he guides her to her room. 

“It’s nothing serious,” she assures him with a tired but genuine smile, “I think I’m coming down with a fever, that’s all.”

“Flu?” He watches as she unlocks the door, then follows her in, closing the door behind himself. 

Toeing off her shoes, Scully considers for a moment. She’d had the flu before and remembers feeling far more achy and fatigued leading up to it. She feels bad, but not that bad.

“I don’t think so.” She can feel Mulder studying her as she pulls a set of pajamas from her suitcase. She turns away from her luggage to make eye contact - nothing to hide - as she assures him, “Really, Mulder. I’m okay. I promise.”

He nods. He believes her. Still he hovers at the door connecting their rooms.

“Well, I was going to suggest we go find ourselves some dinner, but it’s probably better if I bring you back something. Do you need me to get you medicine or anything while I’m out?”

“I have an antipyretic in my bag. I’ll probably take that just before bed. So I should be all set. Just need to stay hydrated and let my immune system take care of the rest.”

“Okay. Any requests for dinner?”

“Something light.” she advises, turning back to her suitcase. “Maybe soup?”

“Okay. I’ll be back soon then. Call if you need anything.”

He slips from the room with the unspoken promise left behind: anything she needs, he will bring to her. 

////

A warm shower after Mulder leaves and her silky pajamas seem to temporarily assuage her headache. Deciding a nap will do her good, she slides between the thin motel sheets. Never before has a lumpy economy mattress seemed so welcoming; she is asleep within minutes.

Some time later she wakes to the sound of a door opening, the crinkling of shopping bags. Cracking her eyes open, she sees that the sounds signal Mulder’s return.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were asleep. If you want, I can -” He gestures as best he can back toward his room. The plastic bags looped around one of his arms knock together. In his other hand he is dragging his suitcase.

“‘S okay. Whatcha got there?” She pushes herself upright, trying to shake the grogginess from her head.

“Just some supplies,” he hedges. Then, lifting his suitcase: “And I know you don’t like us sharing a room during a case, but we’re technically off the clock, so I thought I would keep you company.” 

The mere fact that he is asking permission - albeit not directly - is interesting and new. Mulder has never been good with rules or boundaries, and that’s putting it nicely. But so far in this one aspect he has done well in separating their personal and professional lives. Of course, he still… struggles in other ways: an innuendo taken too far, a sweet nothing - or dirty remark - whispered in her ear at work, a deliberate press of his hips against her when he ‘brushes by her’ to grab a file in the office. She always gives him a stern look, then hopes he doesn’t catch her little grin when he turns away. But his conduct on these out of town cases has shown her that as much as he may push boundaries, he does respect her rules and will not break them. Not without permission, at least.

“You’ll get sick.” She warns. He shrugs. They both know he will get sick anyway with all the time they spend in close proximity. “But, yes, that’s fine. Now show me what you’ve got there. I can already tell you went overboard.”

Mulder sets down his suitcase, and Scully watches as he spreads the spoils of his trip on the table in the corner of the room. He arranges everything facing her, as if seeking her approval. Protein bars, Advil, a bottle of water, crackers, half a dozen bottles of Powerade in assorted colors, a box of tissues, just in case. 

“Wow.” 

“Yeah, I guess I might have gotten a little more than you need…” Mulder admits sheepishly. “Anyway, how are you feeling?”

“Definitely a little feverish.” She admits after a moment of consideration. The beginning of a chill is starting to creep up on her, she realizes with a shiver.

“Maybe some soup will help. Chicken noodle.” Mulder, pulling a styrofoam container spoon from one of the bags. He starts to bring it to her, but she shakes her head.

“No, I'll get up and eat at the table.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Would you mind grabbing me my robe?”

After a brief search he locates her robe in the closet and brings it to her. Rearranging the supplies, Mulder carves out a space for them to eat. Mulder watches her for a moment, supervising her first few spoonfuls of soup before starting in on his own meal - his typical greasy fare of a burger and fries. Normally she would be jealous, but tonight she just isn’t hungry enough. Still, she accepts a fry or two when he offers. 

The edge of the sun disappearing over that green horizon line is just visible out the window. Together she and Mulder watch, eating in companionable silence, as pinks and oranges slowly turn into the purples and blues of twilight. Even after their meals are finished they remain transfixed, content to watch until the last of the light has faded from the sky. 

Eventually Mulder stands, gathers up their plastic utensils and styrofoam containers and disposing of them in the trash across the room. 

“You alright if I go take a quick shower?” Mulder asks, brushing his hands off as he turns back to her. 

“Of course, go ahead.” She waves him off, “I’m fine.”

After Mulder grabs his things and disappears into the bathroom, Scully stands and stretches. The soup was a good idea; it seems to have given her a second wind. The fatigue and muscle aches now just lingering phantoms. They will return later with a vengeance, she is sure, but she decides to take advantage of this burst of energy.

By the time Mulder returns from the bathroom she is nearly finished sorting receipts for her and Mulder’s expense report.

“Scully, what are you doing?” 

“Expense report.” She answers without looking up. “Do you still have the receipt from the gas station yesterday?”

A latch clicks, paper and fabric rustle as Mulder searches through his suitcase. A moment later he sits down next to her on the bed, but instead of handing her the receipt, he takes her notebook and the stacks of receipts she has carefully sorted in front of her.

“Hey! Mulder, what are you doing?” She reaches for the papers, but he holds them away from her.

“You don’t need to worry about this now. You should be resting.” 

“I’d like to get it out of the way; I’m sure I’ll only feel worse tomorrow.” She protests. “And it has to get done.”

“Okay, then I’ll do it.”

Scully arches her brow at him. Crossing her arms, she watches as Mulder starts re-sorting the receipts. It’s a sight she never thought she would see: Mulder voluntarily working on an expense report. She often wonders how he got along before she joined the X-Files. His receipt piles aren’t as neat as hers and his handwriting will be hard to decipher later, but he seems determined.

“Well, if you’re doing that, then I’ll work on finishing up my report.” 

“Scully, no. C'mon, just...relax. I didn't take this from you just so that you could find more work to do.”

“The report has to get done too, Mulder.”

“Alright, then I'll do that too.”

“You'll finish MY report for me?”

“Yeah, sure. 'I, Special Agent Dana K. Scully, hereby corroborate and agree with every detail in Agent Mulder's report. I have also realized he is right about aliens.’ See? Easy. It'll take me 5 minutes.”

She shakes her head at him. Pushing herself up off the bed, she crosses the room to her briefcase. As she bends to get her notes, Scully quickly realizes she has made a mistake. Maybe it is the illness, or slight dehydration, or both but the change in blood pressure makes her dizzy. Blackness threatens at the edges of her vision, she puts a hand against the wall for balance.

“Scully?” Even through the blood rushing through her head, she can hear the edge of fear in Mulder’s voice. 

A few deep breaths push away the encroaching blackness and quiet the blood pounding in her head. By the time she rights herself Mulder is already by her side, hand on her shoulder to steady her.  
“You alright?”

“I’m - yeah. Just got dizzy for a second there.” 

“You scared me. It looked like you were about to pass out on me.”

“No, I’m alright. It was just a brief vasovagal response.” Based on Mulder’s expression, she can tell her medical explanation does nothing to ease his concerns. “I just stood up too quickly, that’s all.”

“Maybe you should come lay down.” Already his hand has fallen to the small of her back, gently ushering her back toward the bed.

“Mulder…” 

“I know, I know, but just humor me. Your report can wait.” Mulder does his best to fluff up the flimsy pillows before stacking them up against the headboard and coaxing her to lay against them. 

“Alright.” She concedes with her best put-upon sigh. 

After situating her, television remote in hand, Mulder sits down cross-legged on the bed and returns to their expenses.

“You know,” he says a moment later, nudging her with his elbow, “if you need a doctor, I happen to know a very good one. She has an excellent bedside manner, if you know what I mean.”

Mulder waggles his eyebrows at her. Scully rolls her eyes - more out of obligation than annoyance - and presses down the smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She turns her attention toward the television. With any luck, maybe she can find a documentary to help her relax...

////

She does not remember dozing off, but she must because the next thing Scully knows she is waking up midway through some Animal Planet rerun. The chills and aches have caught up to her in her sleep; her skin is cold and clammy. 

With a grunt Scully pushes herself up and pads into the bathroom to get ready for bed. It must be no less than 65 degrees, but the room feels against her too-hot skin. Eager to get back to bed, she quickly brushes her teeth and takes an Advil.

“You going to sleep?” Mulder asks when she burrows back under the covers, pushing the pillows flat.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I won’t be much longer.” He promises. 

“Mhm.”

The next ten minutes or so find her dozing in fits and start, the aching of her muscles keeping her tethered to consciousness. Papers and sheets rustle as Mulder, true to his word, gathers up receipts. The bed creaks as he stands. A moment later the lights flick off, and Scully closes her eyes to listen to the achingly domestic sounds of Mulder getting ready for bed. Once upon a time this casual intimacy frightened her; now hearing Mulder’s nightly routine is starting to become a comfort. 

A few minutes later the bathroom door clicks open. Bare feet against stiff carpet, then the dip of the mattress as Mulder slides into bed behind her. 

“Hey.” Scully whispers, wriggling backwards toward the heat of his body.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't.”

“Can't sleep?” He molds himself against her back, wrapping her in his arms. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

“No.” His body against hers is so warm; her aches lessen at the points of contact between them. “Just stay like this. This feels nice.”

“Whatever you need, Scully.” His hand, splayed across her abdomen, starts moving in gentle patterns. Circle, circle, up, down. The arc of his hand up and down grows until his downstroke is over the curve of her hip, the upstroke tickling her ribs.

“Mulder…?” Her tone is half question, half warning when his hand brushes the swell of her breast with intent. He kisses the back of her neck, inhaling audibly. She knows she must smell of sleep and sweat. 

“I want to help you relax.” He husks, tickling the hair at her nape.

“Mhm, sexual healing, Mulder?”

“Something like that.” She can hear the shrug in his voice. “It could help you sleep.”

“It could, but I’m not really up to --”

“I know.” He is still caressing the underside of her breast, inching higher so slowly it’s almost imperceptible. Almost. “And I don’t expect anything. This would be just for you.”

“Mulder…”

“You’re always taking care of me. Let me take care of you for once, Scully. ” He implores softly, unmasked earnesty in his voice. “Let me make you feel good.”

Those words, ‘let me take care of you’ reverberate in her head for a moment. They want the same thing; she won’t deny it any longer.

“Okay.” She agrees softly. 

“Hang on. I’d like to have both hands for this.” Mulder sits up, slipping his arm from underneath her. After some re-arranging, he lifts and settles her between his legs. “Sit up a little bit? There.”

Now, sitting with her back against his chest and her head tucked up under his chin, she is completely enveloped by Mulder. His warmth, his scent a cocoon around her. Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, Mulder slips his hands under her pajama top, picking up where he left off at the curve of her breasts. 

In spite of her fever, Mulder’s hands feel so warm as they cup her breasts. Slowly, slowly he circles her areola, teasing her nipples to aching points. A kiss to the side of her neck, his tongue brushing that spot behind her ear that makes her squirm. 

“Mulder…” Scully shifts against him, pressing her chest into his hands. Taking her hint, Mulder flicks the pads of his thumbs back and forth over her nipples. Scully mewls; a sound that would embarrass her with any other man. 

“I love all the little sounds you make.” Mulder rumbles, voice low and hot in her ear. She can feel the evidence of his enjoyment starting to harden against the small of her back. She shudders, and it has nothing to do with chills. 

Finally Mulder slips one hand under the waistband of her pajamas, into her underwear. He grunts softly at the slickness he finds there.

“Is this okay?” He asks against the shell of her ear, spreading her wetness over her clit. “Or do you want me to use my mouth?”

“Oh, uhm…” She breaks off in a small moan as she considers. She loves Mulder’s mouth and the things he can do to her with it. Yet she also likes being held, having her world reduced to just the two of them, the way their bodies intertwine. So she shakes her head, tells him: “No, just like this Mulder.”

“God, Scully,” he groans, easily sliding one, then two fingers into her, “you’re so wet. That feel good?”

“Y-yeah.” She answers breathily. He starts up a slow rhythm which Scully quickly matches, rocking her hips against his hand with a whimper. Oh, she had forgotten how good his fingers feel, so much thicker and longer than her own. 

For several minutes - or maybe hours, she can’t be sure - the only sounds in the world are her wetness, Mulder’s light panting against her neck, and he whimpers he is drawing from her. Her muscles are tensing, thighs trembling as everything grows taught within her. 

“More,” she breathes, “just - oh - a little more.”

Mulder redoubles his efforts. He grinds the heel of his hand into her clit, presses his fingers upwards every time he thrusts into her. She bucks hard - nearly hitting Mulder’s chin - as she tries to reach the precipice. 

“Easy, Scully, easy. Just let go. I’ve got you.” Mulder murmurs. His free hand returns to her breast, rolling her nipple and the tension within her breaks. She cries out, a near sob, as she clenches around his fingers. He tightens his arm around her, pulling her closer, as though trying to hold her together even as he is causing her to fall apart.

When she comes back to herself, Mulder is pressing whisper-light kisses against her neck and shoulders. His cock presses, still hard, against her backside but his hips are still.

“Think you can sleep now?” He asks, gingerly extracting his hand from her underwear. 

“Mhm. But what about you?” Her eyes are heavy now, but she knows he must be uncomfortable. Throbbing. “Maybe --”

“Shh. Don’t worry about me.” He effortlessly lifts and lays her on her side, drawing the sheets up around her shoulders. “I meant what I said before; that was for you. I can take care of myself later if I need to.”

“I owe you, then.” 

“If you insist.” Mulder settles in behind her once again, arms over her waist.

“Mulder?” She mumbles, voice already thickening with sleep. But this is important: “Thank you. For taking care of me.”

“No, Scully. Thank you for letting me.”

////

That night, Scully dreams of a sunset on an endless horizon. Together, she and Mulder drift on a sea of endless swaying green, keeping each other afloat.


End file.
